Why not to tickle a dragon
by halo4hire
Summary: This is a short one shot on my take of the limitedly described first task, particularly fleur's run. I doubt it warrants a NSFW, but just to be safe I'm rating it M for the grisly nature.


As she walked out past the gate into the arena, she smirked. She was veela, her charm could effect the simplest of beasts. This in mind she confidently stalked her prey, her charm blasting powerful, so strong that she could feel it take effect in the minds of all the lesser creatures around her. Oddly even some of the females. she'd test that later, the beast in front of her was more pressing.  
"Sleep, beauty" she coo'd, as if like a mother to a babe, the beast staring at her before yawning, and curling protectively around the nest, it's jade scales gleaming in the sunlight. Her smirk turning into a full grin. Of course the beast had obeyed her, showing that as always veela were the apex creatures on the planet. She sauntered up to the curled beast, its job was done. Now what to do with the eggs? Obviously the golden one was hers to keep, but the others? She would stomp them to mud were it not for the fact she didn't know if the simpletons would judge her for it. Even that overgrown wannabe witch headmistress of hers was infuriatingly close minded of the veela's obvious superiority. Alas, the eggs will have to live. As she stepped over the stupid beast l, she didn't notice the dragon's eye pop open, so assured in her charm and in her superiority as a veela, a child of fire and moonlight. she didn't notice the fore claw drawing back, or the air pressure displaced when it began to hurtle towards her ungarded back as she picked up the golden egg. All too soon she realized the dragon wasn't asleep, as long three inch sharp talons pierced the muscles between her shoulders, the force lifting her off her feet and throwing her hard into the arena wall, a good ten feet (roughly 3 meters according to Google) off the ground. All she could understand was pain as she slid down the wall, the rough rocky terrain catching her fall.  
She looked up at a shadow loomed over her, green filling her blurring vision, sound refusing to enter the world. The beast edged it's snout closer till the two creatures of fire we're almost nose to broken nose. She tried to lift her wand but couldn't, her arm wasn't responding at all. In fact nothing was responding; she couldn't move. Slowly as if smirking the dragon drew back the flews of it's lips, showing dagger like teeth before inhaling and releasing an ear shattering roar point blank in the veela's face. As the roar died down and the echoes ended, the dragon began barking skyward, almost like it was doing some sort of call. Thinking the beast was done, the veela began to try and transform to her true form, only to scream in agony as her body failed it's morph. Her wings wouldn't form, her claws barely extended, her fire was cold.  
Her scream brought the beast's attention back to her, where it used it's forearm to flip the veela onto her stomach and held her there by her head, face down into the rocks. The dragon leaned down closer to her body, smelling the absolute terror that had replaced her arrogance. It could smell the tears beginning to well up in the halflings eyes, the urine she released when the mother roared, the taste of copper that hung in the air. The mother pressed her already red claws near the temptress' hips and raked up, filleting open her back and causing her to release a piercing scream as her blood sprayed across the stones, the fire in her causing the scarlet fluid to steam as it hit the rock floor. The other humans the mother could smell were trying to persuade the dragon away, but she just barked and snapped a fire ball at them. Returning to the arrogant veela, she pressed the girls head further into the ground, the child wasn't fighting so badly now, only twitching limply. With a quick snap the mother ripped off an arm from the prey, snapping it up into her mouth before swallowing and releasing more fire at one of the simian idiots that we're trying to edge closer to the mother's prey. If the stupid bird was going to willingly walk into her nest, she was going to have dinner.  
Fleur only knew two things at this moment, panic and pain. The world was fading in and out of her vision, the sound refusing to enter her clouded mind. She had released her bowel when the beast screeched directly into her face, her bladder when the claws flayed open her back. ThQe rocks tore further into her face as the dragon held her down. She had screamed and screamed until she couldn't anymore when her spine was revealed to the open air, she cried when her arm was ripped from her shoulder. She tried to move, to run, to get to safety. She couldn't understand, she was veela, the dragon should have been honored to give her an egg, but instead it was destroying her, eating...her...

She tried to morph again, trying to push through the pain and force the change, her talons fighting to extend, her wings bulging out of her flayed open back. Then she was weightless. She tried to flap her wings, surely they had extended if she was flying? She had hope, she could escape from this beasts hunger. But for all her effort, she could get away. Her wings hadn't unfurled, instead she was being held by her foot at the peak of the a slam, the dragon had decided to try and tenderize her meal as she slammed the veela down on the stone. She cried in pain as a rock entered her now useless eye socket, the ocular fluid seeping out with blood mixed in. In the span of five minutes Fleur Delacour had gone from a beautiful woman to a horrendous wreck, but the monsterous mother just wouldn't end her. The veela whimpered as sharp pain entered her leg just above her knee, her mind beginning to feel like it was floating higher and higher. There was a pull, there was pain, but she couldn't register it as much. She couldn't feel anything more than the cold drifting in on her. She couldn't see the lights flying over her head nor feel the ground shake as the beast collapsed, she could only feel the cold. Her fire was gone but she didn't care, the cold was...soothing. relaxing. Her troubles were gone. The final thought that entered her mind was "that poor boy."  
Fleur Delacour was dead.

* * *

 **I know I'm not a great writer. God knows I'm not. Nor am I some excellent grammar extraordinary. That said, I had this idea bouncing around in my head "what if one of the champions died. In mythology, the dragons were revered and feared, fire breathing unstoppable juggernaut like forces of nature. Even in hp lore, dragons were described as virtually unstoppable, with hides that were heavily magic proof, taking several powerful wizards to stun one. Lets face it, Fleur was a bitch in the beginning. There is really no ands, ifs, or buts. We could argue semantics, but the end result is the same. This is why I chose her. In cannon, she tried to charm her dragon to sleep, why i don't know, but all she got was a small singe on her skirt. This has irked me for years. She faced a dragon. A dog damned fire breathing massive sized fucking lizard that could make any grown human shit their pants and run. Not just that, but a nesting mother. Now I don't know about everyone else, but I grew up watching wild discovery back in the late '90s and it always showed an animal at it's fiercest when protecting their young, yet all Fleur got was a singed skirt and a scare. You can't tell, but I'm laughing right now. If any good author wants to take this short one shot and make it the full tournament or fourth year, be my guest. All I ask is like everything else I post, let me know so I can follow your story. Peace!**


End file.
